H.D.- "At Baia"
Flowers and letters that say nothing and imply everything and love that acts upon objects rather than people. It's like a love affair done up as a still-life in oil, utterly beautiful and tragically immobile. An enthusiastic osculation to you, Hilda.
And a double whammy from R who plucks from her own field of blooms some Marvell and Blake for your enjoyment.
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Furtively poetical. Consumed with everything.
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